11. The Blacksmith’s Shop

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After delivering Yang Fan to his destination, Adviser Ruan took his leave.

Yang Fan’s five horses and various belongings were settled in the only blue-brick courtyard on the north side of the compound that looked fit for human habitation. It had three rooms in the main northern house, two rooms in each of the eastern and western wings, a stable in the southwest corner, servants’ quarters in the south-facing rooms, and the main gate and gatehouse in the southeast corner.

The southeast was where life-giving energy gathered. In the Book of Changes, it was the position of Xun, which was why the gate had been placed there.

From then on, this would be Yang Fan’s home.

Once everything had been arranged, Yang Fan came into the courtyard and stood before the blast furnace, preparing to address his employees. He had originally intended to speak a little about his vision for the future.

Everyone came out and stood there stupidly, staring at him.

The old man who had answered him earlier was named Zhao Fu. In truth, he had never been rich in his entire life.

He was the foreman here.

Every pair of eyes was fixed expectantly on Yang Fan. They were all his household slaves, and naturally, their master was responsible for keeping them fed.

Their eyes gleamed green, like a pack of starving wolves staring at a fat sheep.

Yang Fan found it extremely uncomfortable.

At the front stood more than forty old men, ranging in age from their forties to their sixties. Bearded, impoverished, grotesque, sleazy, fierce, vicious—there was every kind among them.

Each looked at least ten years older than he really was.

Behind them were boys ranging from twelve or thirteen to twenty years old. These were the apprentices.

At such a young age, they had already begun receiving the full battering of society.

At the very back stood women holding children. They were the workers’ families. Every one of them stood anxiously, dazed and numb, as if their souls had left their bodies.

Yang Fan stood in the courtyard, somewhat dazed himself. Looking at the two or three hundred people before him, he had no idea what to say.

After struggling with it for a long while, he decided to forget about discussing his vision with them.

“Foreman Zhao, give me a report on the personnel,” Yang Fan said.

“Reporting to you, Master, this workshop is called the Prosperous Grain Ironworks. We have forty-five craftsmen, one hundred and five apprentices, and one hundred and fifty women and children. In addition, there is one externally hired bookkeeper, making a total of three hundred and one people. The bookkeeper has gone home and has not yet returned, so three hundred are currently present.”

The old were old, and the young were young. It seemed that Wei Half-City had been eager to rid himself of a burden.

As for the iron mine outside the city, Yang Fan had no idea what condition it was in. Judging by this place, it probably was not doing any better.

“What is the situation at the iron mine?”

“Reporting to you, Master, things there are much the same as here. Production has stopped. It is not an open-pit mine, so vertical shafts have to be dug, but the rock is too hard and difficult to excavate. Only a dozen or so old men remain at the estate on the mountain to keep watch. Everyone else is here.”

The compound covered ten mu of land—not a small area. Although the workshops were rather crude, the property was not without value, and Wei Half-City had been able to give it away.

But this blacksmithing operation was essentially ruined. The people were utterly dispirited. Reviving the place would be no easy task.

Looking up at the sky, Yang Fan saw that it was nearly noon.

Heaven and earth were vast, but food came first. In the absence of oil and side dishes, a person needed at least one jin of grain a day to feel full.

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Three hundred people eating one jin of grain each per day would require three dan of grain. After several consecutive years of drought, grain prices had soared. Even the cheapest coarse grain cost three qian of silver per dan.

That meant one liang of silver every day.

Yang Fan’s entire fortune of a little more than sixty liang would not last long.

His worry was giving him a toothache.

“Zhao Fu, here are five liang of silver. Take some people and immediately buy fifteen dan of the cheapest coarse grain you can find. Use the remaining five qian to buy pickled vegetables. Start cooking at once, and make sure everyone gets a full meal.”

“Thank you, Master!”

A great mass of people dropped to their knees. The household slaves wept openly. They had nearly forgotten when they had last eaten their fill.

“Get up. After you eat, clean the entire compound. Take all the rubbish outside and dump it. Boil some water. Everyone is to bathe and wash their hair, and your clothes are to be boiled in a large pot as well. From now on, no one is allowed to drink raw water. You must boil it first. Find a corner of the courtyard and build a privy. Men and women are to use separate areas. No relieving yourselves wherever you please. I’m going to a banquet in a while and will return tonight. If anyone has not washed properly, you had better watch out.”

“What? Some of us have only one set of clothes. If we wash them, we’ll have nothing to wear!”

“Damn it, that’s no excuse. You must wash, and the clothes must be boiled too. Take turns over two days. Anyone without clothes can stay hidden at home. If anyone has not washed properly, and I find lice on them, Old Zhao, tear up that person’s entire family contract and drive them out immediately.”

There were simply too many people for Yang Fan to support. He might as well dismiss some of them and let them all run toward freedom. It would count as a good deed.

In the next instant, the entire crowd dropped to their knees again with a rumble. One after another, they behaved as though their parents had died, beating their chests and wailing in despair.

“Master, please show mercy! You can’t drive us out!”

“It hasn’t rained for three years! If we leave, my whole family will starve to death!”

“My entire family signed lifelong contracts! You can’t refuse to honor them now, Master!”

“Driving me out would be the same as killing my entire family!”

Yang Fan was dumbfounded.

What was going on? They were actually refusing their freedom. They were crying and shouting, begging to remain household slaves.

Were these people disciples of the Sect of Baseness? Had they trained in all eighteen forms of shamelessness?

Yang Fan suddenly remembered something Lu Xun had written in a textbook: In history, there had really only been two eras—the era when people wanted to be slaves but could not, and the era when they had temporarily become secure slaves.

He could not help feeling a little desolate.

Forget it. The old were old, and the young were young. If he really drove them out, they probably would not survive the winter. When the cart reached the mountain, there would always be a road ahead. For now, he would shoulder the burden himself.

“Old Zhao, choose ten young men in good physical condition to serve as my personal attendants and guards. Then find several people to clean this house thoroughly, and arrange for some to sweep, do the housework, and cook. I’m going to a banquet this afternoon and will be living here when I return tonight. Here are five liang of silver. Buy some furniture, bedding, pots, bowls, and basins. Also find a tailor to make me several sets of clothes.”

“Rest assured, Master. I’ll take care of everything perfectly. By the time you return tonight, you’ll be able to move right in.”

Old Zhao’s face was alight with excitement. At last they had a master. At last someone was in charge. Even the deep wrinkles on his face seemed to smooth out and shine.

He smiled like a chrysanthemum in full bloom.

Yang Fan sighed inwardly.

The slave mentality—this era’s disease.

An hour later, the people sent to make the purchases returned. They carried baskets on shoulder poles and pushed wheelbarrows loaded with coarse and mixed grains.

Adults and children alike were beaming with joy, as excited as though New Year had arrived.

Two tailors also came. They measured Yang Fan and began making him two sets of fine-cloth clothing. They had brought along another outfit that someone else had ordered and then refused. Yang Fan tried it on, and it fit quite well.

It would do perfectly for the banquet.

Old Zhao had taken Yang Fan’s height and proportions into account when choosing the clothes. The fact that he had thought of such details showed how thoroughly he handled things, and Yang Fan was very pleased.

The mixed-grain porridge in the large pot was ready. Yang Fan personally ladled himself a bowl and took a taste.

Crunch.

There was grit in the rice. He nearly cracked a tooth.

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Yang Fan picked it out with his fingers and held it up to the sunlight, narrowing his eyes.

It was a small piece of quartz sand, the sort found in a riverbed.

He turned to the sack of grain, scooped up a handful, and let it trickle through his spread fingers.

There was a great deal of sand.

And rat droppings.

What the hell was this? Was it fit for human consumption?

Those damn unscrupulous merchants.

Back in school, people had often mocked the cafeteria food, joking that half the rice was sand and the other half was rat droppings.

Now he had seen it with his own eyes.

The people stood there as though it were perfectly normal, drooling and staring eagerly at the great pot.

Yang Fan waved his hand helplessly. Unable to bear looking any longer, he turned and walked away.

What a cursed world.

Judging by the light, Yang Fan knew it was time to leave. After asking around and learning the location of the Welcome Inn, he set off for the banquet with three household guards recently selected by Old Zhao.

He led three horses: one for himself, one carrying the captive Tatar, and one loaded with the severed heads and two suits of armor, along with the identification plaques, seals, and other belongings of Baibai and his son.

One of the three household guards was named Grindstone. He came from Shaanxi, where the local dialect used the word to describe a short person.

Though he was small—barely five feet tall—he was incredibly strong. He was built like a crab, with muscle growing right down to his bones. Twenty years old, he was the strongest man in the entire workshop.

Yang Fan gave him the nickname Demon Muscleman.

Another was named Zhang Bump. He was a deserter from Liaodong, forty years old. Zhao Fu had chosen him because he had been to war, killed people, and seen blood.

That alone was nothing remarkable. The Ming Empire was not short of outlaws and professional killers.

The important thing was that he was a military household from the Fushun Guard—the very place where the Old Slave had first risen to power.

For more than twenty years, he had suffered defeat after defeat, been absorbed into new armies, suffered defeat again, and been absorbed once more. He had served under countless generals, commanders, and military supervisors.

For twenty years, he had fled from place to place without pause—Kaiyuan, Tieling, Shenyang, Liaoyang—and in the end had run all the way to the Ji Garrison, still in one piece.

Even Yang Fan could not help admiring him.

What was war, after all? A great man had already given a penetrating explanation: was it not simply preserving oneself and destroying the enemy?

Setting aside the destruction of the enemy, Zhang Bump had at least succeeded in preserving himself.

Anyone capable of doing that was at least fifty percent of a genius.

The third was named Donkey Egg. He had acquired the name because he went around telling everyone that he possessed an organ as large as a donkey’s ear.

According to him, he had once shown it to a donkey, and the donkey had cried.

Yang Fan expressed complete understanding. What man would not want a fellow with something that enormous?

If they encountered danger, Yang Fan planned to send Demon Muscleman out first. If the muscleman was unfortunate enough to lose, Donkey Egg would take the field and show himself to the enemy. The donkey had cried, after all—surely the enemy would cry too.

The damage would be limited, but the humiliation would be devastating.

If even Donkey Egg failed to intimidate the enemy, then Zhang Bump would have to be brought out. First preserve himself, then consider destroying the enemy.

With these three men accompanying him, Yang Fan would dare attend not only a banquet hosted by the Eastern Depot, but even the notorious Feast at Hongmen.